Honeyed Midsummer (a Monchielle)

images of growing up--a monchielle poem for my mother

Honeyed Midsummer


In honeyed midsummer
I would help my mother
hang laundry on the line,
warm white bleached underthings,
still fragrant in my mind.


In honeyed midsummer
I hid from my mother
in laundry on the line.
Waves of blue sheets at sea
rocked my child's sense of time.


In honeyed midsummer
I left home and mother,
green lands to seek and find.
I hung my own laundry,
all lacy and sublime.


In honeyed midsummer
I buried my mother
dressed her in dove grey gown.
The clothesline waits empty,
the laundry's taken down.


Written for: "Stormy's poetry newsletter & contest" 

Explanation of the Monchielle form: "Invalid Item"